


My body's broken (Yours is bent)

by cantdrownmydemons22



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, International Fanworks Day 2016, M/M, Morning After, My First AO3 Post, Oliver and Bruce don't really know each other, Slash, sorry it's late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantdrownmydemons22/pseuds/cantdrownmydemons22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver wakes up in bed with a certain billionaire. </p><p>JLU or anything is not really important to know since it has nothing to do with this fic. Oliver and Bruce has never met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My body's broken (Yours is bent)

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I feel like I have to explain the excuse behind this fic. Basically I wanted a morning after without your typical awkwardness or large amount of fluff…and somehow this happened. This is also not my favorite work, but I wrote it for someone else. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own. Characters belong to their respective creators . I’m just borrowing them.

Oliver hasn’t been this hungover in a long time. 

The pounding in his head continues its relentless pace. When he tries opening his eyes the light causes the pain to double, reminding him of why it was a bad idea. Either his body is not used to taking the large amount of alcohol he consumed last night, or he drank way more than he remembers. Come to think of it: he barely remembers anything that happened last night . He recalls flying to Gotham for some charity gala event thing he was forced to attend at Wayne Manor. His mother had ‘asked’ him nicely- by ‘asking’ he meant she guilt tripped him by telling him to go and when he politely declined, she had given him this look clearly showing her ill-hidden disappointment, mentioning something about how she thought he’d be excited to get back into the flow of things (hidden meaning being to get back to how things used to be) – and Diggle had even backed her up, mentioning how Oliver needed to take a break from working too hard. Both him and Felicity thought the gala was a perfect opportunity.

Now though he regrets doing what they said. In fact he’s never going to do what they say again, no matter how much they insist it being good for him. Groaning softly, he tries to hide from the bright morning sun by burying his face into the pillow. He took a sharp breath willing the jackhammer in his head to stop. The unfamiliar smell hit his nose. So he was in Gotham the morning after the gala. Thinking back painted short flashes of elegantly dressed people moving about, laughing at whatever. He also remembers waiters with trays holding different types of alcohol. After only an hour of mingling about he had taken advantage of the open bar to relieve his boredom. 

Movement from behind him caused the bed to shift. Great. Not only is he hung over and can’t remember much of what happened, but he had taken someone home with him- or more likely he had gone home with someone considering his last known location. This is not what he needed right now. He can’t deal with a one night stand or some poor woman who might think that last night was more than it actually was. That had actually happened quite a lot during his years before the island.

“Crap.” A definitely not female voice cursed behind him. That could complicate things a lot more..

Not the fact that he slept with a guy, he’s slept with guys in the past too, but that he suddenly remembers flashes of dark hair and a familiar deep voice. The same voice who had given a speech at the gala. 

Sighing , Oliver knew he’d have to turn around and deal with his drunken mistake. Rolling onto his back, he tries once again to open his eyes. At first the light seared a sharp pain behind his eyes, until they finally adjusted allowing him to see the figure next to him. His suspicion on who he slept with proved right when he recognized Bruce Wayne. At least devilish handsome Billionaire is a step up from homicidal psychopaths. The other man had found a shirt somewhere and was currently sitting up right rubbing the palm of his hand over his eyes. 

“I usually don’t have to deal with ‘morning afters' so please forgive me if I’m a little lost at what to do.” Bruce spoke for a second time not yet facing him. 

“I haven’t really dealt with something like this in a long time too so…” Oliver trailed off, not sure of what to say next. When Bruce turned around to face him their eyes met for a few brief seconds of silence. Suddenly the absurdness of the situation caught up to them and they laughed, breaking the awkward tension. 

“Sorry. Usually I would’ve snuck out by now to avoid this sort of confrontation, but this is my home.” Wayne chuckled, gesturing around the room with a rotation of his hand. Oliver let a short laugh of his own escape as he took in the room. A few photo frames were dotted around on various places verifying that he was indeed in the other man’s bedroom. 

“And leave me to shamefully walk through this labyrinth of a mansion praying I find the front door?” Oliver joked, earning an amused look from Wayne( Bruce? Did drunken sex qualify them to be on a first name basis?). 

“No, of course not. Alfred would’ve helped in escorting you out.”

“I don’t suppose the ‘escorting’ comes with a strong cup of coffee?”

“If you asked nicely it might. But I’m afraid breakfast is usually served at eight and there are no exceptions. Alfred is quite dead set on that matter.”

Another brief laugh was shared between the two. Oliver felt himself relax at the knowledge that this won’t be one of those awkward morning after moments which are filled with ‘I’m sorry's and rushed explanations (even hurt feelings in more than one occasion). They both have reputations of being ‘playboys’ meaning that they stand on the same foot about what happened last night. Neither of them harbor any hurt feelings or certain expectations. Oliver noticed Bruce relaxed too, probably thinking the same thing as him. 

“The tabloids are going to have a field day with this,” Oliver grimaced. Hopefully, and with a little luck, no one noticed both billionaires disappearing upstairs – or if they did – had the good sense to ignore it. Rolling his tongue over the roof of his mouth he could just about taste the expensive scotch they had shared last night with just the barest hint of fruit from the champagne. His headache has dulled somewhat, but every shift made it flare up again. Looking back at Bruce he noticed the man had turned his back to him again to type on his phone. Muscles that are usually hidden beneath suits stand out a lot more prominently beneath the shirt and Oliver suddenly remembered how it felt to run the palm of his hands over the other man’s back, muscles flexing beneath his fingers as he skimmed over the ridges of his spine. He also remembers how the skin had felt uneven in certain places, a feeling he knows all to well from the times he’s run fingers over his own scars. Strange, but he didn’t feel like bringing it up now. It’s not like they’re friends so he’s not about to ask about one childhood injury or another. He stretched to loosen his stiff muscles arching his back while pulling his arms up and out. It had gained the attention of the other billionaire again, who trailed an appreciative gaze down his body. A smirk spread in the corner of his mouth until the gaze traveled back up with an different kind of emotion. 

“You’re not all that you pretend to be, are you?” even though it was phrased like a question it didn’t sound like one. The sudden suspicion from the other billionaire was caused by the fact that he had noticed the scars littering Oliver's body. Last night they were both to drunk and blinded by lust to actually notice the unusual marks - or if they did, didn’t bother to care. Oliver tensed up, not liking how Bruce was eyeing him, like he was reaching for a weapon or waiting for him to pull one out. Bruce's eyes scanned his face. Whatever he was looking for he must have found it because afterwards he visibly relaxed, purposefully making him look non-threatening. Slowly Bruce raised a hand, bringing it closer to Oliver's skin. Oliver had to fight every instinct in his body telling him to grab the hand, roll away, stop the billionaire, anything to defend himself. Instead he held still, holding his breath as the hand lightly touched the scar left of his chest. When Bruce noticed that he wasn’t about to move away, his touch became more firm, smoothing his entire palm over every inch. Steadily he moved his hand to touch almost every scar. Oliver was used to his team seeing his scars, even his mother and sister had seen them, and their reactions to them. The team had mostly become indifferent to them, Felicity ignoring them in favor of looking at all the rest she was left to appreciate . Thea and his mother had been a little more horrified by them which is why he tries to keep it away from their eyesight most of the time. What he is not used to seeing is the intense look on Bruce’s face, coupled with something like understanding , almost like the man could see the weapons that inflicted this kind of damage and could relate as to how they felt piercing the skin.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who’s hiding something ,” Oliver began, noticing how the corner of Bruce's lips twitched up, “pretending to be something I’m not.” 

Bruce stilled his hand, resting it on his abdomen and turned towards Oliver. He didn’t exactly agree with what Oliver said, but his expression held no hint of denial. 

“Maybe we have a lot more in common than just the sums in our bank accounts.” After he answered Bruce leaned up, pressing their lips together in a slow kiss. Oliver remembered these lips and how they had felt pressed against his skin, his lips and exactly how skillful they could be. However this kiss was different from the many of last night, they weren’t fueled by desire or anywhere close to being passionate. It wasn’t one shared between lovers or even friends. It was just what it was: a kiss. 

That doesn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy it. 

Oliver tangled his fingers in Bruce’s hair as the man shifted till he was slightly more draped over the other man, with one of his knees coming to rest between Oliver’s own. The kiss went farther, but didn’t gain any more heat instead still sticking to it’s lazy pace. Eventually Bruce pulled back ,but not without dragging his teeth over Oliver’s bottom lip. He restrained a pleased shiver at the act, staring up into the man’s face. 

“I hate to stop at this moment, but you do have to leave. Or at least I have to.” Bruce informed apologetic . Oliver sighed at the loss of heat when the other man slid out of bed, making his way to what Oliver assumed was an adjacent bathroom. 

“Yeah, uh, what time is it anyway?” He called after the retreating back. Bruce's voice echoed from the bathroom with an answer. Oliver swore loudly, flying upright. “I need to hurry up or I’ll miss my flight!” 

“I have a suggestion,” Bruce’s voice called over the sound of rushing water, “Maybe you should join me in the shower. It’ll save you a lot of time.” 

Oliver stopped searching for his pants, contemplating the suggestion. It would save him a little time- not to mention the shame of climbing onto a plane smelling of sex and booze since he definitely won’t have time to stop at the hotel for a shower. Besides, It's not like there's a friendship or partnership to screw up here- its not like he's ever going to see the man or work with him again.

A few minutes later found him slipping underneath the shower spray joining one very pleased looking billionaire.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the tense in the story is a little jumpy, sorry.


End file.
